FOR  EAGER  LOVERS 


FOR  EAGER  LOVERS 

BY 

GENEVIEVE  TAGGARD 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  SELTZER 

1922 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
THOMAS  SELTZEE.  INC. 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 

ROBERT  L.  WOLF 


'Tell  me  if  the  lovers  are  losers  .  .  ." 


995452 


THE  WAY  THINGS  GO 


These  poems  have  been  published  in: 

Poetry:  A  Magazine  of  Verse 

The  Bookman 

The  Nation 

The  Measure:  A  Journal  of  Poetry 

The  Bowling  Green  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post 

The  Literary  Review  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post 

The  Conning  Tower  of  the  New  York  Tribune 

The  Occident  of  the  University  of  California 

The  Lyric  West 

and 
The  Liberator 


CONTENTS 
THE  WAY  THINGS  GO 

T  PAGE 

The  Futile 3 

Very  Young  Love 4 

First  Miracle 5 

II 

Tropical  Girl  to  Her  Garden  ....  9 

Just  Introduced 10 

Thirst ii 

Beach  Cabin 12 

Married 13 

Leave  Me  Alone  a  Little 15 

Black  Laughter 16 

The  Quiet  Woman 18 

I  Have  Moved  West 19 

III 

Endless  Circle 23 

Symbol   Summary 24 

Little  Hamlet 25 

The  Enamel  Girl 26 

Forever  Lost 28 

For  Eager  Lovers 29 

Angular 30 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Poet  in  the  Basement 31 

Sea-Change 

Tired  Girl 33 

Unacknowledged  Dedication    ....  34 

IV 

Indian  Summer 39 

Talking  Water 40 

Boys  and  Girls 41 

Frost  in  the  Air 45 

Everyday  Alchemy 46 

Epithalamium 47 

Spring  Touch 49 

The  Long  Magic 50 

With  Child 51 

ICE  AGE  55 

ON  THE  EARTH  AND  UNDER  IT 

The  Vast  Hour 65 

To  a  Magnificent  Spinner,  Murdered     .  66 

Dead  Man 67 

Hunch-Backed  Volcano:    1914     .      .      .  68 

Twentieth  Century  Slave-Gang    ...  69 

Revolution 70 


THE  FUTILE  - 

The  stone  falls,  the  bird  flies,  the  arrow  goes  home, 
But  we  have  no  motion,  we  scatter  like  foam. 

O,  give  me  a  song  to  sing  for  your  sorrow, 

A  song  that  will  lift,  like  a  wave  from  the  reef, 

You  and  myself,  that  will  fling  like  an  arrow 

My  poor  scattered  words  to  the  target  of  grief: 

I  want  to  forget,  to  remember  no  morrow, 

To  go  with  the  petrel,  to  go  with  the  leaf.  .    .    . 

We  would  fly  with  all  things  to  the  goal  of  their  flying, 
We  would  turn  with  all  things  to  the  magnetic  star, 
But  we  never  can  live,  because  of  our  dying, 
And  we  never  can  be,  for  the  things  that  we  are. 

We  alone  of  all  creatures — the  stones  more  than  we — 
Have  no  end,  no  motion,  no  destiny. 


VERY  YOUNG  LOVE 

Wishes  are  birds.     You  have  been  circled  round 
With  them,  invisible,  I  sent  you  in  distress, 
Flown  from  my  heart  that  long  had  held  them  bound, 
Surpassing  winds  in  their  sharp  eagerness. 

You  have  not  seen  their  dim  shades  on  the  ground ; 
Nor  heard  them :  never  felt  their  pinions  press 
Beating  the  air,  but  never  making  sound, 
And  hanging  over  you  in  breathlessness. 

So,  with  you  here,  the  trembling  little  words 
Lie  down  like  frightened  children  in  the  dark, 
Lie  down  and  weep ;  and  wishes  winged  like  birds 
Fly  crowding  back ;  with  this  the  only  mark 
That  I  have  almost  told  you  breathless  things: 
You  hear  the  weary  folding-down  of  wings. 


FIRST  MIRACLE 

There  was  a  time  when  Mother  Nature  made 
My  soul's  sun,  and  my  soul's  shade. 

A  cloud  in  the  sky  could  take  away 
The  song  in  my  heart  for  all  day, 

And  a  little  lark  in  a  willow-tree 
Would  mean  happiness  to  me. 

My  moods  would  mirror  all  her  whims ; 

Trees  were  my  strength :   their  limbs,  my  limbs. 

But,  oh,  my  mother  tortured  me, 
Blowing  with  wind,  and  sighing  with  sea. 

I  flamed,  I  withered,  I  blossomed,  I  sang, 
With  her  I  suffered  pang  for  pang, 

Until  I  said:   "I  will  grow  my  own  tree 
Where  no  natural  wind  will  bother  me." 

And  I  grew  me  a  willow  of  my  own  heart's  strength, 
With  my  will  for  its  width,  and  my  wish  for  its  length : 

And  I  made  me  a  bird  of  my  own  heart's  fire, 
To  sing  my  own  sun,  and  my  own  desire. 

5 


And  a  vast  white  circle  came  in  the  air, 

And  the  winds  around  said,  "Don't  blow  there." 

I  said,  "Blow  on — blow,  blow,  blow,  blow, 

Fill  all  the  sky,  above,  below, 

With  tempest,  and  sleet,  and  silence,  and  snow ! 

"Wherever  I  go,  no  matter  where, 
My  bird  and  my  willow-tree  are  there. 

"However  you  frown,  no  matter  how, 
I  will  sing  as  I  am  singing  now." 


II 


TROPICAL  GIRL  TO  HER  GARDEN 

Withhold  your  breath ! 

Heavy  in  noon,  and  sleepy  as  slow  death, 

Garden  of  sweets  and  sours, 

The  cluster  of  my  body  hangs 

Odorous  with  flowers : 

Stamen  serpent-fangs, 

Sultry,  in  showers. 

Withhold  your  hand ! 

My  boughs  are  bent  with  gold,  my  face  is  fanned 

With  wings  of  bees  that,  thirsting,  curve  and  kiss ; 

Under  green  leaves,  green  tendrils  coil  and  hiss  ; 

Sun  spills  on  me,  gloom  bears  me  down  too  much ; 

My  heavy  fruit  will  fall  without  a  touch 

From  hanging  long  in  sultriness  like  this. 


JUST  INTRODUCED 

Only  a  few  hours! 

We  danced  like  wind, 

Our  faces  like  noon  flowers 

On  one  slim  stem  were  lifted,  turned  aside. 

You  flew,  I  followed,  matched  your  stride, 

And  held  your  pause,  and  swung  and  parted  wide. 

Only  a  few  hours ! 
We  danced  like  wind, 
Thirsty  as  blown  flowers, 
Heavy  lidded,  fearful  eyed. 


10 


THIRST 

There  is  a  bird  that  hangs  head-down  and  cries 

Between  the  mango  leaves  and  passion  vines. 

Below,  a  spotted  serpent  twines 

And  blunts  its  head  against  the  yellowing  skies. 

Along  the  warping  ground  a  turtle  scrapes, 

And  tortured  lie  glazed  fishes  in  marsh  grass. 

Across  the  sky  that  burnishes  like  brass 

A  bat  veers,  stupid  with  the  yeast  of  grapes. 


II 


BEACH   CABIN 

I  dreamed  you  were  the  sea ; 

I  dreamed  you  pounded 

With  foamy  fists,  the  sad  face  of  the  shore. 

Waking,  I  lay  beneath  you, 

And  the  room  resounded 

With  the  hoarse  fury  of  the  mounting  ocean's  roar. 


12 


MARRIED 

Your  face  from  my  face  slips, 

Lover  of  my  lips. 

Holder  of  my  heart, 

For  all  our  close  companionships, 

We  are  apart. 

Apart,  apart,  we  are  apart. 

Crying  beauty  leaves  me  dumb, 

Your  fire,  cold  and  still. 

I  watch  the  hours  of  morning  come 

And  always  will, 

With  this  dull  agony  in  my  heart — 

We  are  apart. 

Strong,  solemn,  stupid-kind; 
Parting,  we  leave  behind 
Silence,  where  our  foot-steps  sound 
Dead  on  the  hollow  ground. 

With  a  singing  river  I  used  to  run 
Wild  with  wonder:  now 
There  is  no  river,  there  is  no  sun, 
Only  an  old  vow. 


And  this  dull  chant  goes  through  my  head, 
And  this  dull  moan  sinks  in  my  heart: 
Half  of  my  body  must  be  dead, 
We  are  apart. 


LEAVE  ME  ALONE  A  LITTLE 

Leave  me  alone  a  little ! 

Must  I  be  yours, 

When  all  my  heart  is  pouring  with  the  sea 

Out  to  the  moon's  impersonal  majesty? 

Leave  me  alone !     My  little  vow  endures 

Men's  irritating  love,  surviving  yours! 

Surviving  all,  surviving  even  you. 

Leave  me  alone.     This  is  no  rendezvous : 

I  am  not  false  except  with  my  old  sea  and  moon, 

You  understand  me?    Wait  behind  the  dune? 
Oh,  level  glow,  oh,  soft,  soft-spoken  sea — 
Leave  me  alone.    Why  will  you  follow  me ! 


BLACK  LAUGHTER 

Harsh,  unuttered  thunder 

Stood  like  a  stone  wall 

Above  the  marsh's  silver  line. 

Crooked  cranes,  white  as  lightning — 

Flattened  for  an  instant,  flashing  from  the  cloud — 

Came  driving  toward  us ;  toward  us  fell 

The  long  lines  of  the  shade-laden  trees, 

Soundless  slanting  thunder : 

And  the  snail-like  hills 

Dragged  nearer 

The  marsh's  slime. 

Borne  down  so 

By  sullen  immensities, 

Two  caught  children  we  stood, 

Waiting  the  flash,  the  oblique  arm  of  the  parent, 

Waiting  for  speech  from  the  jowl 

Of  the  irritated  horizon.  .  .  . 

Our  love  began 

Between  flash  and  crash, — 

Terror  seen  and  terror  heard. 

See  what  a  cripple  our  love  is ! 

It  is  sullen ;  sometimes  it  makes  walls  of  black  laughter ; 

16 


It  is  fond  of  words,  fond  of  thick  vowels, 

It  mimics  thunder. 

Between  us  it  limps : 

We  wait  for  it,  when  we  must,  faces  averted, 


THE  QUIET  WOMAN 

I  will  defy  you  down  until  my  death 
With  cold  body,  indrawn  breath; 
Terrible  and  cruel  I  will  move  with  you 
Like  a  surly  tiger.     If  you  knew 
Why  I  am  shaken,  if  fond  you  could  see 
All  the  caged  arrogance  in  me, 
You  would  not  lean  so  boyishly,  so  bold, 
To  kiss  my  body,  quivering  and  cold. 


18 


I  HAVE  MOVED  WEST 

I  have  moved  west,  I  travel  with  the  sun; 
You  cannot  hold,  you  cannot  hinder  me. 
There  are  no  ends  for  what  I  have  begun — 
There  are  no  resting  places  where  I  run, 
Until  I  am  surrendered  to  the  sea. 


Ill 


ENDLESS  CIRCLE 

The  tree  we  lay  under 
The  thunder,  the  thunder 
Of  my  heart,  and  your  wonder 
And  our  weeping  .  .  . 

Now  we  are  old,  we  are  worn,  we  are  weary  of  sleep 
ing; 

There's  an  end  to  all  sorrow,  there  must  be  an  end  to 
our  weeping: 

Come  with  me,  run  with  me,  find  with  me,  laughing 
and  leaping — 

The  tree  we  lay  under. 

The  thunder,  the  thunder 

Of  my  heart,  and  your  wonder — 

And  our  weeping. 


SYMBOL  SUMMARY 

Up  that  thin  river,  going  over  sand — 
Down  that  deep  river,  purple  to  the  sun ; 
My  ringers  fire ;  cool  your  quiet  hand, 
And  your  voice  sad,  and  mine  the  ardent  one.  . 

So,  silver-thin,  the  flute-like  running  river 
Threaded  the  sea-set  purple  stream;  and  we 
Sat  mingling  voices  solemn  and  a-quiver 
Until  we  struck  the  storm, — and  heard  the  sea. 


24 


LITTLE  HAMLET 

Over  you,  over  you,  over, 

I  hang  like  a  wave,  like  a  lover, 

Like  a  scimitar  edged  with  hate ; 

Too  heavy  with  grief  to  be  straight 

And  far, 

Too  frail  to  ever  discover 

How  to  fall  like  a  wave  or  a  lover — 

Or  a  blue-thin  scimitar. 


THE  ENAMEL  GIRL 

Fearful  of  beauty,  I  always  went 
Timidly  indifferent : 

Dainty,  hesitant,  taking  in 
Just  what  was  tiniest  and  thin ; 

Careful  not  to  tare 

For  burning  beauty  in  blue  air ; 

Wanting  what  my  hand  could  touch — 
That  not  too  much ; 

Looking  not  to  left  nor  right 
On  a  honey-silent  night ; 

Fond  of  arts  and  trinkets,  if 
Imperishable  and  stiff 

They  never  played  me  false,  nor  fell 
Into  fine  dust.     They  lasted  well. 

They  lasted  till  you  came,  and  then 
When  you  went,  sufficed  again. 

But  for  you,  they  had  been  quite 
All  I  needed  for  my  sight. 
26 


You  faded.     I  never  knew 
How  to  unfold  as  flowers  do, 

Or  how  to  nourish  anything 

To  make  it  grow.     I  wound  a  wing 

With  one  caress,  with  one  kiss 
Break  most  fragile  ecstasies.  .  .  . 

Now  terror  touches  me  when  I 
Dream  I  am  touching  a  butterfly. 


FOREVER  LOST 

Forever  lost — like  birds  forever  flying, 
Searching  bleak  space, 
Circling,  and  with  the  south  wind  crying 
Across  earth's  face: 

Arrowed  I  fly,  and  like  them  lost  forever, 
Having  once  seen 

Scarlet  in  a  jungle,  by  a  deep  river — 
Scarlet  and  green. 


FOR  EAGER  LOVERS 

I  understand  what  you  were  running  for, 
Slim  naked  boy,  and  why  from  far  inland 
You  came  between  dark  hills.     I  know  the  roar 
The  sea  makes  in  some  ears.     I  understand. 

I  understand  why  you  were  running  now 
And  how  you  heard  the  sea  resound,  and  how 
You  leaped  and  left  your  valley  for  the  long 
Brown  road.     I  understand  the  song 

You  chanted  with  your  running,  with  your  feet 
Marking  the  measure  of  your  high  heart's  beat. 
Now  you  are  broken.     Seeing  your  wide  brow 
I  see  your  dreams.     I  understand  you  now. 

Since  I  have  run  like  you,  I  understand 
The  throat's  long  wish,  the  breath  that  comes  so  quick, 
The  heart's  light  leap,  the  heels  that  drag  so  sick, 
And  warped  heat  wrinkles,  lengthening  the  sand.  .  .  . 

Now  you  are  broken.     Seeing  your  wide  brow 
I  see  your  dreams,  understanding  now 
The  cry,  the  certainty,  wide  arms, — and  then 
The  way  rude  ocean  rises  and  descends.  .  .  . 

I  saw  you  stretched  and  wounded  where  tide  ends. 
I  do  not  want  to  walk  that  way  again. 
29 


ANGULAR 

Other  hearts  have  broken  gracefully,  for  your  sake, 
And  now  your  eyes  reproach  me  that  my  ache 
Is  awkward,  and  my  arms 
Are  angular  across  my  breast 
Where  emptiness  is  pressed. 


30 


POET  IN  THE  BASEMENT 

Only  to  tell  your  loveliness — this  love : 

Only  to  tell 

Pain's  odor,  beauty-burning  miracle 

Of  my  surrender ! 

Late  I  flew  .  .  . 

But  ever  arrow-straight 

I  fly  now  from  the  shade  that  falls — that  fell 

Lightly  on  you, 

On  me  with  a  wave's  weight. 

Oh,  I  must  go :  this  city  has  a  spell 
I  never  gave  it  leave  to  have.     Still,  still  to  tell 
The  weaving  of  your  footsteps  on  the  stairs 
With  my  slow-dropping  love  for  you  that  wears 
Cold  stone  I  want  my  heart  for — still  I  stay. 
Put  out  the  stars.     Give  me  another  day 
Only  to  tell. 


SEA-CHANGE 

You  are  no  more,  but  sunken  in  a  sea 
Sheer  into  dream,  ten  thousand  leagues,  you  fell  ; 
And  now  you  lie  green-golden,  while  a  bell 
Swings  with  the  tide,  my  heart :  and  all  is  well 
Till  I  look  down,  and  wavering,  the  spell — 
Your  loveliness — returns.     There  in  the  sea, 
Where  you  lie  amber-pale  and  coral-cool, 
You  are  most  loved,  most  lost,  most  beautiful. 


TIRED  GIRL 

Put  her  away  some  place  between  two  hills, 

Away  from  the  sea  and  the  sun. 

She  has  so  much  to  think  of — must  she  run 

On  your  bright  bosom  always,  Mother  Earth  ? 

Put  her  away,  and  let  some  other  birth 

Bring  her  back  to  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  the  sun. 

After  she  ponders  under  silent  hills, 

Beneath  your  swarming  bosom,  Mother  Earth, 

She  will  have  words  for  her  beloved  one. 


33 


UNACKNOWLEDGED  DEDICATION 

These  were  his  songs.     Now  he  has  broken  them. 
All  he  has  made,  that  has  he  also  slain : 
Seeing  my  beauty  budding,  broke  the  stem ; 
Finding  his  likeness  here,  where  he  has  lain, 
Finding  the  flame  of  his  hurt  spirit  here 
In  this  small  pool  that  motioned  with  his  shade, 
Seeing  himself,  he  smote  me  with  his  fear — 
He  only  lives  to  break  what  he  has  made. 

All,  all  he  fathered,  all  that  lived  by  him, 
Shut  from  his  face  with  banging  of  loud  doors. 
The  sun,  losing  his  spirit,  now  is  gone  dim ; 
Only  the  sea  that  roared  before,  still  roars. 

Now  it  is  time  to  go,  softly  away ; 
We  will  grow  fragile,  songs,  soon  we  will  fade. 
He  has  no  place  for  us,  we  cannot  stay — 
He  cannot  bear  the  beauty  he  has  made. 

Where  will  we  go,  my  songs,  under  the  sun  ? 
There  is  no  place  to  go,  no,  there  is  none. 
The  sea  is  scornful  of  our  sufferings. 
The  sea  is  like  him,  careless  of  all  things, 
Beating  her  own,  and  mourning  that  they  die. 


34 


All  things  are  like  him — beautiful  they  lie 
Pressing  their  image  wildly  on  our  grief, 
Prone  in  their  beauty,  terrible  and  brief, 
And  when  they  face  us,  bitterly  afraid, 
They  cannot  bear  the  beauty  they  have  made. 

Where  will  we  go,  my  songs?     He  does  not  know 

Your  faces  any  more,  or  love  your  lips. 

We  are  too  frail  to  last.     There  will  be  snow, 

The  noise  of  rivers,  and  the  winter's  whips. 

To  wind  and  water  we  will  give  our  woe 

That  once  made  music.     Let  them  follow  him. 

When  all  the  sky  is  darkened  at  the  rim 

And  he  and  we  have  stumbled  in  its  shade, 

No  one  will  know  the  beauty  he  has  made. 


35 


IV 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

In  that  day 
Everyone  will  sing, 
Everyone  will  play  in  that  day ; 
There  will  be  carolling. 

You  will  make  poems  for  your  neighbor's  child ; 
Woods  will  grow  wild. 

In  that  day 

Men  will  not  pray, 

Men's  hearts  will  never  know 

Struggle  and  woe. 

Lovers  will  be 

Simple  and  free; 

On  warm  fall  nights,  men's  sweethearts  will  conceive. 

No  one  will  grieve, 

No  one  grow  gray; 

Feet  will  not  go 

Wandering,  in  that  day, 

Save  on  one  quest 

Older  than  they : 

Across  one  threshold — an  unbidden  guest. 


39 


TALKING  WATER 

If  you  will  poise  your  forefoot  in  my  pool, 
I  will  not  loose  a  ripple,  Beautiful. 
Crackle  the  fern-stems,  arch  aloft  and  stare, 
See !  there's  no  fright  for  you,  anywhere. 
A  leaf  shall  not  lift,  nor  a  shade  shake 
You  and  your  shy  love  away  from  my  lake. 
I  know  the  noon  is  ablaze  for  you, 
This  gaunt  forest,  a  maze  for  you : 
Kneel  near  this  drop  of  water  on  stone, 
No  one  comes  plunging.     You  are  alone. 
To-day  I  am  opal,  tinged  with  blue, 
My  color  deepens  with  the  glassy  heat, 
And  I  listen  for  hoofs.     Am  I  timid,  too? 
Noon  is  my  enemy !     Thrust  in  your  feet ! 
Trample  this  silver,  trample  this  sand, 
I  will  not  startle  you,  Little  One ;  stand 
Slim  as  the  larch,  there,  I'll  not  take 
Even  your  shade  to  the  naked  ache 
Of  my  lessening  waters.     If  you  lean, 
Another  faun,  like  you,  but  green 
Will  flick  his  ears  and  curve  his  throat, 
His  shadow  hoof  will  lift  between 
These  pebble-splotches.     Will  you  float, 
Mingle  and  drowse  and  touch  me,  Beautiful  ? 
If  you  come  down  some  blown  noon  to  my  pool, 
I  will  be  quiet,  I  will  be  cool. 
40 


BOYS  AND  GIRLS 

THE  SUN  CHILD 
Boys  and  girls,  come  out  to  play : 
The  sun  is  up,  the  wind's  astray, 
Early  morning's  gold  is  gone — 
(They  slumber  on,  they  slumber  on.) 
I  have  never  done  with  you 
Half  the  things  I  want  to  do. 
I  will  put  kisses  on  your  knees, 
And  we  will  squander  as  we  please 
This  lovely,  little  lazy  day ! 

Ninety  million  miles  away 

The  sun  halloos:  "Come  out  to  play; 

The  winds  are  prancing  on  tip-toe, 

Impatient  with  long  waiting  so ; 

The  hills  look  up.     Come  out  and  oh, 

Let  your  bodies  dart  and  run 

While  I  make  shadows,"  says  the  sun. 

Boys  and  girls,  come  out  to  play 
Before  the  river  runs  away, 
7  have  never  done  with  you 

Half  the  things  I  want  to  do.  .  .  . 

• — • — .. _ 

THE  SUN 

Boys  and  girls,  come  out  to  play 

Before  the  river  runs  away, 


While  you  are  fluid,  unafraid, 
Beneath  my  light  and  shadow  skim, 
Before  this  folded  gloom  is  dim 
And  limb  no  longer  follows  limb 
Dancing  under  spotted  shade. 

For  dancing  were  your  bodies  made : 
Before  the  roses  of  you  fade, 
Find  your  meaning  for  the  mouth 
While  I  lean  south ;  while  I  go  west, 
Find  your  meaning  for  the  rest. 

T~ 
THE  SUN  CHILD 

Throw  back  your  head  and  fly  with  me — 
Love  me,  chase  me,  lie  with  me ; 
Follow,  sweetheart  of  the  sun, 
Turn  and  follow  where  I  run 
Between  blue  vineyards  and  fruit-trees — 
Fall  down  and  kiss  me  on  the  knees ! 
Pant  beside  me  while  I  pull 
Berries  for  you  from  the  full 
Blue-jeweled  branches.     Crush  them  red, 
Not  on  your  mouth — on  mine  instead ! 

THE  SUN 

Nimble  you  move — you  are  my  own, 
My  pliant  essence.     All  alone, 
On  fire  in  the  passive  sky 
I  burn — a  stone,  a  golden  stone ; 
Together,  you  in  double  shade 
Discover  why  your  limbs  were  made. 
42 


THE  SUN  CHILD 
7  have  never  done  with  you 
Half  the  things  I  want  to  do. 
Link  your  arms  and  loosen  them, 
Pluck  and  suck  a  grass's  stem. 
Touch  my  breasts  with  that  blue  aster, 
Kiss  me  fast — I'll  kiss  you  faster! 
Link  your  arms  and  loosen  them. 

Now  link  your  arms  like  mine  together, 
Toward  me  lightly,  like  a  feather, 
Dance.     Like  feathers  you'll  be  blown 
Across  the  level  field  alone, 
And  like  a  brown  wing  my  bare  feet 
Will  skim  the  meadow  till  we  meet. 

The  river  skips,  but  we  are  quicker : 
Its  little  body's  slender  glisten 
Goes  down  alley-ways  of  leaves. 
Flicker,  sun,  and  river,  flicker; 
Listen,  lover,  listen,  listen 
How  the  river  laughs  and  grieves.  .  .  . 

7  have  never  done  with  you 

Half  the  things  I  want  to  do. 

Leap  for  me,  sweetheart,  reach  and  try 

To  catch  me,  sweetheart ;  kiss  and  cry 

After  me,  sweetheart,  darting  by. 

After  you  seize  me,  we  will  lie, 
I  in  the  grass,  you  in  the  sky ; 
43 


After  you  kiss  me,  we  will  start 
To  try  and  reach  each  other's  heart, 
And  searching  frantically  find 
The  unseen  blisses  of  the  blind. 

THE  SUN  CHILDREN 
Before  the  river  runs  away, 
Boys  and  girls,  come  out  to  play. 
(They  slumber  on,  they  slumber  on, 
Morning's  glint  is  almost  gone.) 
With  yellow  bubbles  fill  your  veins 
Before  the  lusty  day-star  wanes. 
(They  slumber  on,  they  slumber  on, 
Silken  leopard  noon  is  gone.) 
Die  you  may,  die  you  must — 
Fill  your  mouths  with  pollen  dust ; 
Calyxes  and  honey-thighs 
Both  will  wither.     Beauty  dies. 
Find  out  why  mouths  are  berry-red 
Before  you  stiffen  in  your  drab  bed. 
Over  you  humming  summer  will  glide, 
You'll  never  lie  languid  on  your  side, 
And  listen  then  as  you  listen  now 
To  half-heard  melodies;  oh,  how 
The  river  runs  and  runs  and  runs 
Fluid  with  splendor,  and  the  sun's 
Circuit  is  singing.     Fragile  day! 
Boys  and  girls,  come  out  to  play ! 


44 


FROST  IN  THE  AIR 

Winter  put  his  shoulder 

To  our  door, 
Nights  are  turning  colder 

More  and  more; 
We  are  old — or  older 

Than  before. 

Poppied  sleep  and  honeyed  breath 
Are  an  antidote  for  death. 

If  your  ringers  tingle 
Hold  them  here: 

Doom  has  drawn  a  single 
Circle  clear ; 

Lean  to  me  and  mingle 
Fear  with  fear.  .  .  . 

Poppied  sleep  and  honeyed  breath 
Are  an  antidote  for  death. 


45 


EVERYDAY  ALCHEMY 

Men  go  to  women  mutely  for  their  peace ; 
And  they,  who  lack  it  most,  create  it  when 
They  make — because  they  must,  loving  their  men- 
A  solace  for  sad  bosom-bended  heads.     There 
Is  all  the  meager  peace  men  get — no  otherwhere  ; 
No  mountain  space,  no  tree  with  placid  leaves, 
Or  heavy  gloom  beneath  a  young  girl's  hair, 
No  sound  of  valley  bell  on  autumn  air, 
Or  room  made  home  with  doves  along  the  eves, 
Ever  holds  peace  like  this,  poured  by  poor  women 
Out  of  their  heart's  poverty,  for  worn  men. 


EPITHALAMIUM 

Out  of  the  forest,  panther,  come, 

Silken,  supple,  silent,  lone — 

Out  of  the  forest,  drooped  with  night — 

To  your  delight. 

Under  bloom  and  over  stone, 

Out  of  the  forest,  panther,  come. 

Something  sees  and  slips  with  you, 
Something  huge  and  gaunt  and  blue, 
Lashes  its  tail  and  follows  you : 
You,  pursued,  still  pursue.  .  .  . 

Sky  with  thunder  on  its  rim 
Closes  and  closes  after  you : 
Trigger  loin,  swinging  limb, 
Go  and  go  and  go  from  him! 
Brushing  haunches,  taut  with  dew, 
Follow,  follow,  follow  you. 

Now  the  doe  with  lifted  ears 
Rears  in  the  bramble,  looks  and  hears. 
Sway  a  little,  creeper,  creeper ; 
After  you  comes,  more  gaunt  than  you 
And  lean  for  prey,  and  quick,  the  leaper, 
— And  the  little  doe  will  sleep  with  the  sleeper, 
47 


Out  of  the  forest,  panther,  come, 

Silken,  supple,  silent,  lone, 

Out  of  the  forest,  drooped  with  night, 

To  your  delight: 

Under  bloom,  and  over  stone, 

Out  of  the  forest,  panther,  come. 


SPRING  TOUCH 

How  tender-mad  the  little  meadows  lie! 

The  wobbling  lambs  are  tasting  milky  weeds, 

The  tipsy  trees 

Are  leaned  like  foam  on  green,  wind-gullied  seas; 

The  pale  moth  flutters  where  the  pale  moth  leads, 

And  you,  swimming  the  sky 

Waist  deep  in  surf  of  apple-blossoms — I, 

Sweet  to  your  thigh, 

Take  the  new  tingle  of  your  froth  of  seeds. 


49 


THE  LONG  MAGIC 

Swing,  swing,  and  swoon, 
Morning,  evening,  noon, 

And  with  night,  sleep. 

If  you  must,  weep — 
But  here,  here  with  me. 

Swing  like  the  sea 
Where  waves  are  tall; 
Torrents  and  the  three 
Tides  fall.  .  .  . 

Let  the  end  be 
With  the  last  sweep : 
Swoon,  swoon  with  me — 
Then  sleep. 


WITH  CHILD 

Now  I  am  slow  and  placid,  fond  of  sun, 
Like  a  sleek  beast,  or  a  worn  one : 
No  slim  and  languid  girl — not  glad 
With  the  windy  trip  I  once  had, 
But  velvet-footed,  musing  of  my  own, 
Torpid,  mellow,  stupid  as  a  stone. 

You  cleft  me  with  your  beauty's  pulse,  and  now 
Your  pulse  has  taken  body.     Care  not  how 
The  old  grace  goes,  how  heavy  I  am  grown, 
Big  with  this  loneliness,  how  you  alone 
Ponder  our  love.     Touch  my  feet  and  feel 
How  earth  tingles,  teeming  at  my  heel ! 
Earth's  urge,  not  mine — my  little  death,  not  hers ; 
And  the  pure  beauty  yearns  and  stirs. 

It  does  not  heed  our  ecstasies,  it  turns 

With  secrets  of  its  own,  its  own  concerns, 

Toward  a  -windy  world  of  its  own,  toward  stark 

And  solitary  places.     In  the  dark, 

Defiant  even  now,  it  tugs  and  moans 

To  be  untangled  from  these  mother's  bones. 


ICE  AGE 


ICE  AGE 

Noiselessly  the  planets  will  blow  by, 

Like  smoke,  like  breath,  like  driven  snow ; 

Frost-bitten  suns  on  on,  on  on  will  blow ; 

Over  earth's  curve,  the  moons,  like  birds,  will  fly. 

Making  no  noise  and  only  vague  shadow. 

And  spider  snow  will  spin  and  spin 
A  tangle  of  frost  to  snare  earth  in. 

Little  earth,  then, 

Will  house  few  men : 

Little  earth,  shrunken — 

No  longer  drunken 

Purple,  splendid,  roistering  earth  ; 

Little  earth  hung 

With  pearls  of  seas, 

Little  earth  shivering, 

About  to  freeze. 

And  through  her  veins,  caught  in  this  web, 
Life  and  color  and  sound  will  ebb. 

There  will  be  faint  tints,  none 
From  the  center  of  the  sun. 


55 


There  will  be  light  noises,  no 
Sound  harsher  than  snow. 

Never  a  sound  of  thunder  or  river, 

Torrent  or  stone — - 

Only  vague  breath  from  the  old  life-giver, 

Making  her  own 

Final,  lingering  filigree 

Of  frost,  blown 

On  the  glass  of  the  sky,  in  planet  and  tree, 

An  icicle  moon,  a  torrent  and  three 

Glittering  stars  half-grown ; 

A  slight  tone 

Rippling  sound  into  the  stilling  river, 

The  crisp  sea. 

And  spider  snow  will  spin  and  spin 
A  tangle  of  cold  to  catch  earth  in. 

Morning's  red  yawn, 
Evening's  pain, 

Never  will  startle  the  earth,  then ; 
Pure  from  her  stain, 

Her  garments  discarded  or  cleansed  by  the  cold  clean 
hands  of  the  rain. 

A  leaf's  lines,  a  stem's  tints, 
Make  in  icy  places,  prints ; 
Trace  of  a  foot,  of  a  hooked  claw, 
Settled  to  stone  since  the  last  thaw ; 

56 


Minnows  bent  with  wavering 
Along  a  pool's  ice-edges  cling. 

All  the  beautiful,  brave 

Colors  that  curled  in  the  wave — 

Flooding  ground  purple  and  crimsoning  air — 

Are  battered  and  rigid  and  bare. 

Earth,  bled  of  her  sap, 
Too  stiff  to  unfold 
The  sprouted  mold 
In  the  cleft  of  her  lap ; 

While  circles  woven  nearer  now 
Hang  cold  broodings  on  her  brow. 

Still,  then  crackling — once  more  still — 
Icy  feet  come  up  the  hill. 

Pushing  back  the  granite  fright 
Men  sing  morning  and  sing  night! 

Only  singing  matters  now, 
With  stark  birds  on  every  bough. 

Carolling  for  morning,  carolling  for  noon : 

Stiff  tasks  done  with  a  tiny  tune, 

And  never  a  note 

In  timbre  any  bigger  than  the  tone  of  a  flute 

Little  sounds  only,  coming  in  your  throat, 

And  the  big  sounds  mute. 

57 


Thinner,  rarer  and  more  shrill, 
As  silence  whitens  on  the  hill : 
Whistling  in  daylight  to  keep  up  nerve, 
While  blue  whiteness  comes  up  the  curve. 

Bravado  of  sparse  breath 

Blown  straight  at  death ; 

Voices  in  silences,  swooping  like  birds, 

Voices  and  carolling, 

Warm  words. 

Flung  at  the  sky's  stiff  stare — 

Into  the  brittle  air — 

A  laugh  like  a  torch's  flare.  .  .  . 

Desperate  gaiety  and  games, 

And  pleasantries  for  comfort  like  wan  flames, 

Will  be  their  only  way, 

For,  in  the  midst  of  play — 

Pause — a  long  sway, 

Something  faltering  underneath, 

The  brief 

Gasp  of  the  breath,  eye's  blur, 

Blunder  of  mortal  fingers,  words  too  thick  to  say, 

Slight  motions  underneath  the  gray 

Faces  of  cloud, 

And  carolling,  carolling,  carolling  loud, 

To  keep  the  cold  away. 

Some  will  slouch, 
Lazy,  brave; 
Others  crouch 
In  a  hidden  cave, 

58 


Hearing  near  and  hearing  far 

Heavy  steps  from  feet  of  stone 

Tread  the  warping  fields  alone — 

Hearing  far  and  hearing  near 

The  wind's  hiss  in  earth's  ear — 

Feel 

Ground  fall,  and  ground  reel, 

Brittle  footsteps  steal 

Up  the  hill  and  down  the  cliff, 

Touching,  snapping,  making  stiff; 

While  granite  footsteps,  grinding  numb, 

Up  the  little  hollow  come. 

Not  to  give  in, 

Men  will  go  on 

Making  vague  love,  kissing  wan 

Faces.     Trying  to  make 

Children  with  women, 

Trying  to  wake 

Hints  of  old  hunger — bitterly  break 

Flesh  that  turns  marble-hard — trying  to  take 

Life  in  their  arms  for  their  brief  comfort's  sake. 

Women  will  not  move  as  move 

Those  confident  of  love : 

Hurt,  like  a  torpid  snake, 

Agony  drags  and  stirs  but  cannot  wake. 

So  they  will  pass  their  days, 
Fostering  a  child  or  two — giving  names 
Of  half -remembered  music,  clamor,  sound ; 
Over  hunched  shoulders  peering  round 

59 


For  cold  that  creeping  comes; 
Over  and  over  saying  tropic  words, 
And  calling  babies  after  jungle-birds. 

They  will  be  cheered  with  each  new  child ; 
And  the  weird 
Pall  of  the  sky,  and  the  wild 
Tangle  of  hooped  moons  piled 
Like  rubbish  in  the  pallid  west, 
Won't  trouble  them  so  much 
With  what  they  feared: 
They'll  touch 

Cautiously  their  children  and  their  lovers — clutch 
Anything  alive. 

Not  to  give  in, 

Men  will  go  on, 

Cold  to  the  chin — 

Light-stepping  for  fear, 

Feeling  the  thin 

Ice  of  the  air  crack  under  the  weight 

Of  feather-poised  earth,  and  the  near 

Nuzzle  of  snow,  and  the  wind's  spear. 

Smoke  from  fire 
And  ice's  smoke 
Lunge  together, 
Fight  and  choke, 

Plunge  and  throttle  and  fight,  and  all 
Blue  smoke  vanishes.     Ashes  fall. 
60 


Some  will  call  the  skimming  planets,  cranes 

Going  south  for  winter — nothing  more ; 

And  some  will  sow  the  icy  fields  with  grains, 

Search  barren  pools, 

Harvest  sea-weed,  plant  a  pebble,  or 

Plow  snow  with  patient  tools. 

And  they  will  never  cease  to  look  for  spring: 

Climb  endless  hills, 

And  turn  from  east  to  west  and  west  to  east; 

Imagining  the  least 

Shreds  of  far  color, 

Supposing  that  they  feel 

Warmth  on  their  faces,  following  the  wheel 

Circling  on  its  axis,  they  will  search  the  sky 

For  sign  of  thaw  or  rain,  or  any  change — 

Looking  for  birds,  where  only  dead  stars  fly 

And  calling  snows,  and  deepening  snow  falls,  strange. 

In  tightening  silence,  they  will  search  for  sound ; 

Beneath  the  smother  of  the  sky 

Find  tangled  iron,  as  the  first  men  found 

Iron  and  more  than  mortal  sinew  in  the  ground. 

And  they  will  worship  symbols  of  sure  things — 
Sure  things,  and  tangible,  cut  clear. 
Forgetting  rust,  they  will  keep  iron  near, 
And  try  to  pour  into  an  iron  mold 
The  past's  white  fire,  perishing  with  cold. 
61 


And  out  of  iron's  touch  upon  their  palms 

Will  come  a  song. 

And  they  will  seize  stone  hammers,  make  a  clang, 

Sing  as  they  never  sang — 

Wild,  assaulting,  strong; 

(Clang,  cold  clang), 

Stone  on  stone,  with  iron  bits, 

Clamped  together,  (Clang,  clang), 

Iron  twisted  till  it  fits — 

Notched  and  jammed  and  bolted  fast — 

Rearing  heavily  and  slow 

One  monument  against  snow; 

A  monument  to  last,  a  tomb  to  hold 

Yellow  pollen  of  all  past 

Against  the  cold. 

Until,  in  the  end,  comes  twilight  glimmer: 

Voices,  faces,  motions  dimmer, 

Breath  as  low 

As  the  all-covering  snow; 

Even  the  evening  and  the  morning  laid 

Cheek  to  cheek,  will  fade — 

Radiance  and  sound  made  one 

And  quieted  and  blended  into  none. 


ON  THE  EARTH  AND  UNDER  IT 


THE  VAST  HOUR 

All  essences  of  sweetness  from  the  white 

Warm  day  go  up  in  vapor,  when  the  dark 

Comes  down.    Ascends  the  tune  of  meadow-lark, 

Ascends  the  noon-time  smell  of  grass,  when  night 

Takes  sunlight  from  the  world,  and  gives  it  ease. 

Mysterious  wings  have  brushed  the  air ;  and  light 

Float  all  the  ghosts  of  sense  and  sound  and  sight  ; 

The  silent  hive  is  echoing  the  bees. 

So  stir  my  thoughts  at  this  slow,  solemn  time. 

Now  only  is  there  certainty  for  me 

When  all  the  day's  distilled  and  understood. 

Now  light  meets  darkness :  now  my  tendrils  climb 

In  this  vast  hour,  up  the  living  tree, 

Where  gloom  foregathers,  and  the  stern  winds  brood. 


TO  A  MAGNIFICENT  SPINNER, 
MURDERED 

Gnats  and  an  ant  have  gnawed  your  nimble  bones — 
You  who  could  spring  and  sprawl  on  your  own  thread 
Down  half  the  meadow.    Under  tiny  stones 
The  ant  has  stored  your  essence.    You  are  dead. 

You  stitched  the  air  with  level  darts :  the  sun 
Slid  on  your  silvers.  Now  they  slant  oblique 
Like  strokes  of  rain.  .  .  . 

Your  neighbors  have  begun 
To  chew  the  cud  of  festoons.  From  the  cheek 
Of  this,  your  hairy  enemy,  dangles  one 
Loop  of  his  glee  to  tease  your  skeleton. 

Wasps  sting  the  grapes  still,  carry  spider-spoil 
In  twisted  torment  past  your  web  and  on 
Where  their  crude  honey  hangs  in  muddy  cones. 
The  ants  are  hurried.    One  huge  bee  intones. 
The  pond  is  wrinkled  with  a  velvet  oil 
Where  gnats  will  hatch,  with  dusk,  another  spawn. 


66 


DEAD  MAN 

Sap  stirs  near  me,  roots  stretch  and  seize, 

Sundering  stones. 

And  rivers  waken,  start  in  monotones 

Their  later  tunes. 

Oaks  bend  their  knotted  knees 

In  labor,  and  the  full  earth  groans 

Like  women  big  with  their  increase; 

While  underground  my  body  lies, 

With  open  eyes, 

In  this  stiff  pose  of  peace. 


HUNCH-BACKED  VOLCANO:  1914 

Red  is  the  mouth  of  Pele,  passionate 
Against  the  fires  of  the  kindling  stars: 
Fire  to  fire  moves :   the  heavens  wait 
As  low  to  earth  comes  crimson-dripping  Mars : 
They  kiss  in  thunder,  shudder,  suffocate — 
Below  men  pause  and  listen,  at  their  wars. 


68 


TWENTIETH  CENTURY  SLAVE-GANG 

We  who  have  seen  the  city's  sentinel — 
Some  iron-colored  tower,  monument 
To  slow  encroaching  force — our  thews  are  bent 
Against  her  girders !    With  her  noise,  her  knell 
From  this  our  iron  tongue  we  toll,  to  tell 
Torture  and  toil.     Her  children  are  content; 
They  sleep  behind  her  spears,  belligerent — 
Until  they  start  in  terror.  .  .  . 

Toll  the  bell: 

Prepare,  prepare  to  see  your  towers  fall; 
Foundations  groan,  no  longer  to  withstand 
The  burdens  of  your  abundant  banquet  hall. 

So  perished  Babylon.     Behold  the  hand 
That  turns  your  river  underneath  the  wall 
And  makes  your  wealth  an  avalanche  of  sand! 


REVOLUTION 

What  husks  of  last  year's  winter  close  you  in, 
To-morrow's  world — what  dead,  what  wrinkled  skin 
Of  ancient  parchments,  laws,  beliefs!  what  dried, 
Worn,  tattered  layers  keep  the  life  inside, 
Where  slender  as  a  sword,  and  tender  green 
It  trembles,  pushes,  patient  and  unseen: 
Vibrating  atom,  fronded  silken  thread, 
Some  day  to  shake,  to  sunder  back  the  dead 
Two  halves  of  hemispheres — to  pierce  the  crust 
Of  ages'  rubbish,  crowns  and  cults  and  dust! 

See,  iron  arms,  that  clutter  all  the  wide 
Plateau  of  liberty — see,  fortified 
Dull  spikey  towns — you  cannot  hold  your  own 
Against  one  seed  a  fecund  earth  has  grown! 
Alarmed  you  stand,  alert  to  meet  your  foe, 
Ready  to  battle  blow  for  thundering  blow; 
Nor  do  you  see  this  sprout  of  common  wheat, 
The  blade,  between  your  firm  implanted  feet. 


70 


o 


W 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


